


Hungry

by thecouchwitch



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: M/M, Vampire AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-02 00:25:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecouchwitch/pseuds/thecouchwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vince comes home from a party with a strange shoulder injury.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hungry

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Trumpet for being a great beta!

Vince comes home from a rave at six in the morning a bigger mess than usual. His makeup is ruined, his hair deflated, and his skin showing the tell-tale bruising of a nasty fight. His clothes are irreparably torn in places, covered in dirt, and bloodied from the nasty shoulder wound he's covered with a plaster he picked up when he stopped at Leroy's place on the way home.

“I got fuckin' attacked!” He exclaims tiredly as he collapses on the couch. “Wasn't even a mugger, just some bloke strung out on drugs, biting into me like a warm chicken sandwich. Honestly, you can't even walk in your own neighbourhood without bein' assaulted.”

Howard fetches him a cup of tea, tries not to be too vocal about his concern for his friend, and instead sticks to doing an I-Told-You-So routine about Vince's insistence on staying in London after the Zoo closed instead of moving to Yorkshire like Howard had wanted. Naboo gives Vince the day off and Howard doesn't complain.

 *

The day off turns into a week. Vince's shoulder wont stop hurting and it keeps opening back up and bleeding onto his night clothes. His body doesn't seem to be dealing well with the pain. He gets headaches and stays in bed all day, curtains drawn, head buried beneath the silk-clad pillows and groaning like a dying whale. Howard's concern rises, but Naboo can't find anything physically wrong with Vince.

“He's just being a baby.” The Shaman/Shady back alley doctor shrugs.

“He did nearly get his neck torn out by a junkie”, Howard uncharacteristically defends Vince. They fight and bicker and hate each other's music, but he loves that shallow simpleton and it gives him no pleasure to see him in honest pain. “Maybe this is some kind of shock.”

He wants to take him to the hospital, but Vince hates hospitals and refuses to budge. They stick with healing potions and salves and decide to wait it out.

 *

Howard wakes up in the room he and Vince share and wonders what woke him before realising, with no small amount of alarm, that the bedroom is silent. No tossing and turning, no groaning, no heavy laboured breathing from a man in pain. He bolts up and crosses the room to the other bed and looks down at his friend, twisted in the black silk sheets, feet poking out childishly and endearingly.

“Vince?” Howard sits on the edge of the mattress and gently shakes his band shirt-clad arm. He's slightly alarmed by how cold he feels through the cotton and mentally makes a note to get on Naboo's case about fixing the heater before Winter sets in. Vince responds after a moment by making a soft noise in the back of his throat and turning his face away from the pillow. Howard is eternally frustrated that even while sick as a feral dog, without any makeup and without a shower in nearly 32 hours, Vince is still breathtakingly beautiful. His skin is smooth, his hair is perfectly imperfect, his cheekbones are bony, and his eyes are unusually bright that particular day.

“What?” Vince rubs his eyes tiredly.

“Just wondering how you were. How's your shoulder?”

“Alright, actually.” Vince smiles and glances down at it. “The pain's totally gone, must be that weird green stuff Naboo gave me earlier. Still feel a bit shit though.

“Want any tea or biscuits?” Howard smiles, feeling relief swell in his chest at the first smile Vince has given all week. “It's nearly seven, I could pop around to the fast food place down the road and get those hotcakes you like from their breakfast menu.”

“That'd be genius.” Vince's grin widens. “I'm starving.”

*

Vince is constantly hungry, but no matter what he eats he can't seem to keep anything down, ending up kneeling over a toilet just minutes after swallowing the first bite of a meal. He's pale, more pale than usual, and he gets an intense headache every time he passes in front of a window. His shoulder no longer hurts and seems completely healed, but he's sicker than ever. Howard is frightened for his friend, frightened he's caught some kind of disease from that blasted junkie, but Vince STILL refuses to go to the hospital and Naboo STILL can't find what's wrong.

“Stomach flu?” He offers unhelpfully. “I don't know, maybe he's got the clap.”

Vince makes a noise of offence and throws a toilet roll at Naboo's head.

“You don't know much about Earth illnesses, do you.” Howard massages his temples tiredly. It's not a question, it's a statement.

“Nah, not really.”

“Right.” If Vince is still sick in the morning, he decides, he's dragging him to the hospital even if he has to knock him out with bear tranquillisers and carry him there in a sack.

*

Howard wakes up again. It's pitch black outside, not even dawn, and in his sleepy confusion he finds himself unable to move, something heavy weighing him down. His mind-tank clears of fog after a moment, and he looks down to see Vince on top of him, straddling his waist with his hands on his chest, skin and eyes bright even in the lightless room. Howard's sleepy confusion turns into actual confusion, and for some reason, just a little bit of fear; the expression on his mate's face is giving him the shivers. “Vince?”

“I don't feel good, Howard.” He sounds whiny, pathetic, desperate. “I'm so hungry.”

“I know.” Howard wants to wave a magic wand and make him feel like his old bubbly self, but Naboo stopped keeping those in the shop after the incident with the manticore. “Look, let me drive you to the hospital tomorrow, once a proper doctor looks at you they can figure-”

“They'll try to give me a needle.” Vince rests his head on Howard's chest. “I hate needles, you know I do.”

Howard tenses up; he wants to do what he would usually do; throw Vince off and tell him not to touch him, but he's too soft-hearted to do the former to Vince while in an enfeebled state and before he can do the latter, Vince moves his head and starts kissing his chest through his pyjama shirt, making him freeze in shock.

“Vince?!” His voice sounds too high in his own ears and this is so bizarre, he wonders if it's one of those sexy dreams he pretends he doesn't have, but he can smell Vince's shampoo and feel the coldness of his skin, both of which assure him of the impossible reality of the situation.

“I'm really hungry Howard...” Vince's voice is a buzz against his flesh as the kisses leave the cloth and find the skin of his neck.

“I-I know little man.” Howard reaches up and clutches Vince's thin arms in a feeble attempt to stop him, but a combination of bewilderment and secretly wanting him to continue make it a useless gesture. “Look, you're not well, let's-”

“You smell good.”

“What?”

Vince doesn't answer, instead he sucks Howard's neck. Howard cries out in a mixture of horror and arousal and clutches at the back Vince's Alice Cooper T-shirt. Vince has gone completely wrong, they both agreed after that disastrous party to never say or do anything close to romantic again, and-

“Ow!” Howard bucks in pain as Vince sinks his teeth sharply into his skin and continues sucking, harder than before. Howard tries to sit up, move, throw Vince off, anything, but Vince holds him down with an amount of strength Howard had never seen him display before and certainly one he shouldn't possess when he was so ill. The jazz musician is panicking; Vince is acting weird, his shoulder hurts like mad and he's fairly certain he's bleeding, but waves of light-headed pleasure are crashing into him and he can hear his own heartbeat roaring in his ears like a drum playing next to a microphone with the volume turned all the way up. The fight ebbs out of his limbs, and instead of pushing, he's holding Vince closer, almost encouraging him, too distracted by the adrenalin in his body and the fireworks in his eyes to even think of calling for Naboo.

*

At some point he must have passed out, because he finds himself waking a few hours later according to the glowing digital clock on the bedside table. A crack of light is starting to shine through the curtains, but even though it's a dull dawn-ish kind of light it hurts Howard's eyes and he looks away.

“Alright Howard?” Howard suddenly remembers what happens and looks at Vince to see him lying beside him on the cramped single bed, eyes bright and wide in concern. There's no blood on his face, but his clothes are soaked in it, and Howard imagines himself to be in a similar state.

“I think I might be a vampire or something now.” Vince continues when Howard doesn't answer, playing distractedly with a strand of black hair as though ashamed to meet Howard's gaze. He feels warm now, warmer than he has been in weeks. "I'm literally a Shorditch Vampire now, how genius is that?"

“Oh.” Is all Howard can manage. He feels tired and hungry. Really, really hungry. “Is that what that was all about, then?”

Vince nods and snuggles closer, resting his head in the crook of Howard's arm; Howard is too tired to knock him off, and to his surprise, he doesn't want to. “I'm sorry I killed you, I was just starving. By the time I got me senses back you'd been emptied out and your heart was stopping. But it was like in the films, you know, them sexy Anne Rice movies? I just fed you some of my blood and you seem alright... are you alright?”

Howard goes quiet. His head hurts and he's exhausted, but Vince seems well and chipper again and he's fairly certain he's just had some supernatural form of orgasm, so he doesn't really feel like there's much to complain about. “You're paying for new sheets.”

Vince laughs, and it's the most beautiful sound Howard has heard in a long time.

*

 


End file.
